


Epitaphs of the Mind

by sarahsolver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 16:06:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14957787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahsolver/pseuds/sarahsolver
Summary: He is the star that shines even when others do not, your own prince.





	Epitaphs of the Mind

His fingers under your shoulders are quiet. He is not gently scratching your shoulder blades or playing a minuet down your spine. Instead his hands lay quietly, an unexpected gift. His hair under your chin is down smooth and inky like your own. You are twins, mirror images in the only way that truly matters.

You don’t ask where he goes on those nights. You lay corpse stiff in his bed and listen as the door opens and he rises, careful not to wake you. You listen to the wardrobe creak and the door click shut, following his path in your mind. You wish always to go ahead of him, to ensure that he is never less than perfectly safe.

He is only a year younger then you but seems at times so fragile that you forget just what he is. He is a wizard, adapt and powerful. He is a Slytherin, cunning and quick. He is a Black, deadly and ruthless. When he is in your company he is none of these things. Instead he is the boy who can charm thestrals and finds spells that leave spirits inside a person’s eyes. He is the star that shines even when others do not, your own prince.

He pulls you into the library and still does not speak. He has not uttered a word since he pushed you into the circle. You can still taste the last vestiges of fear on the back of your tongue, oily and sweet. He was steady next to you the entire time but even that brought only a little comfort. Now his hands dig into your skin as you fumble into the shelves. You see that he is still not wholly yours but becoming more so with each passing second. It feels like something akin to love, watching your name bloom on his lips.

You are strongest when you are next to him. It is unspoken knowledge now that the two of you are a team and whenever one is sent on a mission the other is beside him. You, in your most private hours, know that you feed off of each other, catching the madness and passing it back. It is not hard to curse and maim and even kill, not while he is beside you. You are immortal together and not even the Dark Lord can tame you entirely.

You are a quiet boy in a way that makes others uncomfortable instead of impressing your good manners upon them. He likes to run fingers over your lips, catching up every stray syllable that drops down. When you look at him after-after you both roll over and pull up the covers, after you return to the underground kitchen and take off bloody cloaks, but mostly after you fling down that last curse-you see only his need for your words. Not to silence you or hurt you but only to possess you, fully and without remorse.

You cannot feel him now. He is no longer the hot breath in your lungs. He is not the hand on your back. He is not the voice in your ear late at night. He is only gone, an absence that hurts far more than any you have felt before. At times it feels as if you could die under the strain of it but you only press on, emerging out of your sorrow harder and less then you were. You want to mourn him, the only boy you have ever loved but all of the tears in your body are gone and you can't think of a way to get them back.


End file.
